"I tried hard to be useful, but no dice"
No, you're right, it's not dice I'm calling for
For Law's a game of chess, it isn't nice:
To blame it all on chance is prison-poor.
We know exactly what we are doing,
But, true, it's d*mn convenient to say
"Just luck of the draw the blighter's ruined,
He should have made it out until payday.
He should have not been born into the slums,
He should have pulled himself up by the hair,
Taken example from our glorious sons,
And to cap it all off, life's rather unfair."
That he has to wait an age to see someone
Who'll legally diagnose him off the stream:
His parents kicked him out when too far gone,
Let dreams alone, a bed is just a dream.
While other lucky kids who made it through,
Whose parents got them to adulthood ripe,
Contend with debt and scrounging their way through
What by true Reason should be our birthright.
What crime is it, to be born silver-spoonless?
We do not ask to take the spoon from them,
But give us but a means to feed ourselves,
Give us a means, we'll polish our own gems.
Give us a means, you who hold your fist tight,
"Hiding" the fabled "dice" in golden rings,
Youth, by your fault, isn't growing up right,
And tomorrow, we're taking charge of things.
With nature, dice exist, but nurture, not,
And standing trial, we point our hand at God,
And He explains, "Have all you quite forgot,
The evil that Man does won't count as odds?"